Through the Bespectacled Eyes of a Teenage Wizard
by Atlantis Forester
Summary: 5th year: James Potter, an irresistably charming egomaniac, finds himself falling for the most unlikely of people: spirited, Muggle wallflower Lily Evans.
1. Prologue

It's Enough Just to Breathe

By Atlantis Forester 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm sure I don't have to precise. (I hate these things! J.K. Rowling, I hope you know how lucky you are! Not only this, but you also own a bloody castle! *pout* Wish I could create a personal Hogwarts, too. DARN.) 

A.N. Remember that this is only a prologue! **REWRITTEN FOR THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX**

  
  
  
  
Prologue: 

  
I love to irritate people so very, very much. 

It's just so entertaining to see them going through the different stages of anger: the first time, they frown, but wave it away; the second, they get slightly riled, glare, but still brush it off; the third... of course, my favourite of them all. 

Naturally, I get into loads of trouble. Though, for some odd reason, some people I tease don't find it a laugh when I nettle them--not when I _really_ hex (who would enjoy being hexed, after all?), but when I bother them. 

For instance, Lily Evans. There's a girl who really can't take a joke. After an encounter with her, my friends and I always end up laughing ourselves to sleep. I remember one time I transfigured her quill into a carrot. After all, it was Divination, so Sirius and I needed something to while the time away. Really, considering that it's me, that was an utterly trivial matter. However, Evans... evidently, in her opinion, considers no such thing trivial. 

  
  
  
Now, Evans is really a one-in-a-million case (_girls_, honestly--nothing comes out straight when it concerns them), even among her sex. A few of her favourite adages--so she claims!-- are 'All or nothing', 'Life is only what you make it' and 'Even nothing is something'. Do you see my side of the matter? Evans has an abstruse character that absolutely no one can puzzle out. Marlene once admitted to me in a weak moment that, at times, even she, Evans's best friend, could not gather her. However, she did not elaborate and never spoke of it again. Shame. 

Mundungus Fletcher was even less clear. 'We'll only be masters of the world when we are masters of ourselves. That's her goal: the impossible. She's extraordinary, really. A rare one, Lily. She's admitted all the truth to herself that was possible for any human being, and that's something almost no one will do. She's past the first steps of finding out about herself, and that's far ahead of anyone else I've ever seen.' If you ask me, I think that Dung has spent too much time around Evans. Riddles, riddles, riddles. That's all that comes out of anyone's mouth when Evans's character rises as the topic. With me as the exception, naturally. 

  
  
  
Sometimes, Evans is so different that you can't help seeing her apart from everyone else. And, at others, she is so human that you wonder why you thought otherwise in the first place. 

  
  
  
That early afternoon, in Divination (I am presently relating the carrot incident), was one such time where she felt palpable to you... _human_. I never lose an opportunity at such a time where I feel I am actually able to reach her. Thus, I turned her quill into a shrivelled carrot. 

Evans swivelled to me, the acerbity of her character now fully apparent in her state of anger and disdain. I couldn't help but notice that these were one of the rare moments when she actually seemed _alive_. That set me slightly off course, so I then did something I most _definitely_ should not have done. I laughed. 

Yes, right at her face. Sirius reckons I wasn't in my right mind back then. I agree. Perhaps her sudden vivacity triggered some inborn insanity? 

  
  
  
Which reminds me... I again contemplate _why_ Evans loathes me with such a passion. Oh, it's no use--I've spent many a dismal afternoon brooding over the subject, and have never come remotely close to a possible answer, so let us leave it just at that. 

  
  
  
Of course, that landed me straight in the hospital wing for two weeks with Madam _Fusspot_ Pomfrey. She was able to cure some of my, er, 'illnesses', but had to do quite a bit of research with the help of Professor Flitwick to reverse some of the more severe hexes the batty red-headed monster had presented me with. (After a few days, Sirius gave up trying to visit me in the infirmary; every time he saw my face, he would mumble and rush out the door, his laughter echoing behind him. Remus told me that after each visit, Sirius would be rolling around with laughter in the Gryffindor common room for hours. It was a little hard to understand through Remus's chuckles, though.) 

  
  
  
Now, it may sound like I deserved it--the hexes and all--but that would be unfair to me. Sirius, Remus, Peter and I (er, circumstances more often concern Sirius and me, though) pull pranks on everyone. We do tend to have particular favourite victims singled out, but everyone enjoys our larks except for some Slytherins. Oh, and Evans. It's all harmless fun, and it's a regular cycle that almost everyone's come to enjoy. It's only those conservative stiff-necks who are unable to relax or those who are just born being bloody thickheaded and insufferable who can't appreciate the fun in life. 

  
  
  
Up till here, you might still be a slight bit confused about what's going on. Well, I'll try and clear things up a little. My name is James Potter. I am an underage wizard of fifteen years and am about to attend my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome to my life and follow along with me... if you _can_, that is. 

Hold on! Is it just me, or do I sound like some form of _advertisement_? 

I'm sure it's just me. 

  
  
  
  
  
A.N. Not a brilliant beginning, I must admit. Anyhow, I'm glad that the rewriting of the prologue at least is done. 

I'll have to remind you that this is only a prologue. Please don't be subject to disappointment at the failure! The real story begins only starting from the first chapter, and each chapter will be FAR longer than this teeny thing. 

I will be devoting the first chapter to James's beginning at Hogwarts, then, in the second chapter, will be taking it back to his fifth year. 

Happy reading! 

Cheers,

~Lanti~ 

P.S. I only just figured out how to code my fics, so... BLEARGH. 

  



	2. The Beginning

It's Enough Just to Breathe

By Atlantis Forester 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm sure I don't have to precise. It's bad enough having to write this thing. 

A.N. **REWRITTEN FOR THE FIFTH HP BOOK**

  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: The Beginning 

  
I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning; and for me, my life only truly began when Hogwarts made its way into my cosmopolitan life. 

  
  
  
When I first received my Hogwarts letter, I was ecstatic. Being from the family I am generated from, I lived and breathed the legacy of my pureblood primogenitors. For as long as anyone can recall, the Potters have always been accepted into the illustrious academy that inspired the stuff of dreams--one of the many reasons for the prestige of my kin. Thus, I had lived being perpetually reminded of my obligations to the family, seeing that I was their brightest star yet. 

  
  
  
Let me elaborate upon their image of me. Everyone saw me as a brilliant though mercurial and recalcitrant boy with a source of startlingly strong powers and an almost inconceivable potential for the benefit of the Potters. Beside all of that, I was also extremely athletic and possessed an incredibly adept innate ability to fly (a most treasured talent in the young of the wizarding world), accompanied by a charismatic personality and unusually good looks. To sum it all up, a perfect child, and an even more well-rounded-to-be adult. I lived more than up to my parents' expectations, outdoing myself each and every time, and at every family reunion, I was inevitably the main subject of discussions. 

(A.N. Modest, isn't he?) 

So, when I received my letter, there was a big hullabaloo despite the knowledge that it had been inevitable that I would get it. I myself had been excited; had I not heard over a thousand times the daring exploits of my predecessors in Hogwarts? I was determined to outdo them all and did not hesitate to inform others so, my father especially. He scolded me, of course, but I could tell that he was secretly pleased and would have congratulated me had my mother not been scowling fearsomely at him from behind me. 

Both my parents had been in Gryffindor, as any good Potter would be, and had become Aurors as soon as they graduated. Considering their bloodline and top scores, it must have not been that hard to achieve this goal. Their example had set a strong sense of patriotism and righteousness in me ever since I was very young despite my love of brewing trouble and my unruly principles. 

  
  
  
That very evening, I had been invited to Sirius's house, the occasion--or cause for celebration!--being the rare absence of his parents. Sirius Black is my best friend--beside Remus, of course, but he comes into the picture later on--and came from a well-to-do family of pureblooded wizards with more than a little prejudice against Muggles. Often were the times we were mistaken for brothers for our likeness and fraternal bond. Sirius has dark hair, dark eyes set under highly arched brows, a lissom build and a personality just as larkish as mine. We were the best of companions and were hardly ever seen apart. 

'James! Blimey, I haven't heard from you for yonks*!' Sirius beamed as I climbed out of his fireplace, dusting myself off. 'Guess what!' 

I winced inwardly when I was met by the familiar gloom of Black Manor. Nevertheless, I grinned at him happily. 'Brilliant! You got your acceptance letter!' 

  
  
  
As usual, I felt exceedingly bad about Sirius's unfortunate situation--having to live in this dismal place with his poisonous family as his only company! 'Home' was a wrenching, painful word for Sirius. Ever since we were little, Sirius kept running away from Black Manor and his relative to seek refuge with my family and me. 

There was one conversation we had during the winter holidays of third year that I'll never forget. Sirius had just escaped from Black Manor after a particularly nasty argument with his cantankerous parents, and was at my place. 

  
We were in my room, staring at the crackling fire, silence blanketing the room. It was late at night, and we could hear the wind whistling and slamming against the window panes, through which nothing could be seen past the white frost and the curtains of snow. Sirius was huddled at the corner of my bed closest to the fire and was gripping the bedpost tightly with one hand. I was sitting on the floor, right below him, to the left. Suddenly, Sirius spoke. 'Godric's Hollow is my haven, James,' he said quietly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 'Your parents are so nice to me... and you, James, I don't know what I would do without you.' He glanced sideways at me. 'You're really special, you know that? You're a good person, and one of the very few I'll ever know. I know some people think you're an arse at times, but you aren't--I don't know why you keep up with that facade. In a way... you're like Remus's and my personal guadian angel. I know it sounds strange, but it's true. You're always helping us. You have a very uncommon gift; you can bring people comfort and relieve them of their troubles, even if only for a short time.' He abruptly turned to me with a fierce expression. 'James, promise me that you won't die before me. Promise me that you'll live to a ripe old age, and that nothing will change between us.' 

Taken by complete surprise at Sirius's sudden words, I was quiet for a moment before reaching up to playfully punch his shoulder. 'Of course I won't die before you, dolt,' I said, feigning indignation. 'Silly! With my extraordinary stamina?! Naturally not! If anything, we'll probably die at the same time, in the face of a heroic purpose! And are you trying to say that I won't still be your best friend when we're withered old gaffers? Sirius, Sirius...' I tutted, 'I disappointed at you!' I waited expectantly for a laugh, but it never came. 

A lone tear spilled down Sirius's cheek and he stared at me intently. 'Thanks, James,' he said softly. 'That means a lot to me.' He turned back to the fire. 'Someday, things are going to change. I have a feeling that I can't go on like this. Someday, it'll be too much--I know it. Will you be there for me when it happens?' I saw his fists clench tightly in his lap. 

'What kind of question is that?' I reproached. 'Of course I'll be there. If not, why would I be your best mate?' I smirked. 'You can lean on me! I'm as solid as a rock!' 

Sirius let out a short, barking laugh. 'You're the last person I'd expect to be rock-solid. Especially'--he tapped his forehead--'up here!' 

I huffed. Inwardly, I was relieved that Sirius felt better enough to joke. 'And what about you?' I grinned--now I think about it, I think I was half-serious. 'Can I depend on you even when we grow white beards like Dumbledore's?' 

Sirius looked at me for a long time in silence. 'Always,' he said harshly with bright eyes. '_Always_.' 

  
That heart-to-heart will always be burned into my memory with alarming clarity. Sirius's expression had been intense almost to the point of being frightening. The topic never came up again after that, but I could feel it linger constantly around us. 

But, enough of this sombre topic, now. 

  
  
  
Sirius sulked. 'Bloody hell, James, how did you guess?' 

'Great minds think alike,' I said impishly. 'With the two of us, Hogwarts won't stand a chance! Listen, I've been thinking--' 

'You've been thinking?!' mock-gasped Sirius, all drama, 'How simply spectacular! Why, you jammy beggar*! You've gone and gained yourself a brain!' 

I shot him a nasty glare. 'Shut your flapping clanghole*. Anyhow, I was thinking that we should create pseudonyms.' 

'A sudo-what?' 

'PSEUDONYMS. Honestly, don't you have a bloody dictionary?' 

'Really, James, who doesn't? Oh! Perfectly smashing! As a matter of fact, mine happens to be standing right in front of me.' 

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. 'Never mind. A pseudonym is a false identity. We--' 

'An iden-tee-what?' 

'SIRIUS!' 

'OY! Calm! _Sorry_, I was just joking.' 

'Well, let me finish!' I said peevishly. 'Alright, if we create pseudonyms, we can play as many pranks as we like--as long as we don't get caught--and not get into trouble!' 

'Er, James? If we don't get caught, _we won't get into trouble_.' He spoke the last part slowly, as if I was not particularly bright. 

'You know what I mean, you dipstick*! The other students would probably realise it's us after a while, but without proof, the teachers can't punish us! We'd leave some sort of message--using our pseudonyms, of course--behind so they know it's us, yet we would leave them no evidence the way we usually do.' 

Sirius made an absurd pout. 'But I want credit!' 

'_Sirius_! Have you been listening to what I've been saying?!' 

'Er, no.' 

I ignored him. 

'Oy, James?' 

'What?' 

'I think you should be "Prongs".' 

So he _did_ listen. 'Why?' 

'Well, stags are your favourite animals, and you _do_ remind me of one.' 

'_I_ remind you of an _animal_?!' 

'Well, you're both--' 

'Alright, alright! But if I have to be "Prongs", then _you_ should be... "Padfoot".' 

'"Padfoot"? I rather like that one,' mused Sirius. 'What does that stand for, though?' 

'Dog,' I said instantly. 'That's because you always slobber all over your pillow when you sleep. And your laugh sounds like a bark.' 

'I don't _slobber_!' said Sirius disgruntedly. 

'Yes, you do.' 

'Hm.' 

'Besides, you like dogs. And don't you like dressing up as the Grim to frighten the first-years?' 

'Heh, yeah.' 

We were quiet for a moment to register our new names in our minds. 

'Oy, James?' 

'_What_, Sirius?' 

'What would we write on the "message" we leave behind?' 

'Er...' 

'How about… "_With salutary regards from a pair of marauding troublemakers_"?' 

'That's too long! Why not just: "_Courtesy of two troublemaking marauders_"?' 

There was a pause. Then: 

'Oy, James?' 

'What?' 

'Bloody brilliant.' 

'Thanks.' 

  
Thus, besides finding out that my best friend would come with me to Hogwarts, there was also the very beginning of the infamous foursome Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would form. I knew instantly that our years in Hogwarts would most likely be our best. So far, I have not been proven wrong. 

  
  
  
We left for Diagon Alley by Floo powder the next morning with our parents (Mr. and Mrs. Black had arrived early at dawn; my parents also Apparated to Black Manor in the morning). Sirius and I were left to worship the newest arrivals in Quality Quidditch Supplies in peace while our elders shimmied from shop to shop, buying our things for school. Eventually, though, our parents dragged us away to get our wands, Mrs. Black being the sharpest. 

I had passed by _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_ many times, and had not been too impressed at its appearance, with its dusty windows, peeling gold letters, and overall shabby appearance. Yet procuring oneself a wand is one of the most important moments in a wizard's life, and Ollivanders was universally voted the best. Sirius's pater and mater would have gone to Knockturn Alley, but my parents coaxed them to Ollivanders with words along the lines of 'power' and 'dominant'. 

I heard the tinkling of a bell somewhere in the depths of the shop as we entered. It was really a tiny shop, empty except for a rather frail-looking chair and rows upon rows (there were thousands) of narrow boxes I assumed held wands. It was very silent, so Sirius and I waited, tense, our parents standing stock still behind us. I suddenly realised that this whole place was filled to the brim with powerful magic. 

A soft voice sounded in my left ear. 'Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black. I've been waiting for you.' 

I jumped, startled (Sirius did, too), and turned around. I saw an old man--who seemingly appeared out of nowhere; maybe he Apparated--with wide, pale eyes that shone like moons through the gloom of the shop. His eyes were very unnerving. I deduced that this was Mr. Ollivander himself. 

'As usual, the male Potter gene seems to hold true,' he mused aloud in a soft, whispery voice, looking at my untidy hair. He turned his gaze (and a rather creepy one at that) to my mother. 'Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Nice and flexible.' Mr. Ollivander then approached my father. 'Elm and unicorn hair--twelve inches. Very whippy. That was a quite effective wand--a little on the temperamental side, though.' Mr. Ollivanders fixed his silvery eyes on Sirius and me. 'Now let us see what wands will chose you.' 

We gulped and turned to our parents, who gave us watery smiles (er, but it looked more like a grimace on Mrs. Black's part). Mr. Ollivander took Sirius by the arm and sat him on the spindly chair. 'We shall start with you. Which is your wand arm? Right? Yes… Now, let's see…' After the tape measure--it was enchanted, I guessed, as it moved by itself in the air--finished its work, Mr. Ollivander examined the rows of boxes and pulled out one. 'How about this one? Ebony and griffin feather. Quite bendy. Give it a wave.' 

Apprehensively, Sirius cautiously waved the wand. Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from him, exclaiming, 'No, no, no, not that one. Perhaps this?' He handed him another wand. 'Oak, Augurey feather, nine and a quarter inches. Springy. Try it.' 

Again, Sirius waved the wand, looking positively embarrassed. Mr. Ollivander almost instantly snatched it away. 'No, no! Definitely not! Remember, the wand chooses the wizard! This might do: rowan, unicorn hair, eleven inches.' 

After trying at least five other wands, Mr. Ollivander searched in the very back of a shelf and pulled out another box. By now, Sirius looked absolutely miserable, and the couple Black looked as if they regretted coming here instead of Knockturn Alley--they clearly thought that Mr. Ollivander was mad. 'Ebony, nine inches. Dragon heartstring,' he said happily, though a slightly dubious expression crossed his face. 

As soon as Sirius grasped the handle, the wand started to pulse with red and gold light. Mr. Ollivander looked a little surprised, but shook his head murmuring to himself, 'Ah well, the Blacks were always known for their unpredictability.' 

Sirius grinned at me weakly. He clutched his new wand tightly, looking very relieved as he got off the chair. 

Mr. Ollivander rounded on me. 'Now we shall see,' he said, his eyes shining with an eerie light, ' what wand chooses you. Wand arm?' 

'Right,' I answered quickly. The tape then stretched out in the air and measured me. 

Mr. Ollivander stroked his chin as he looked about the shop. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'Perhaps you shall favour… fir? Hmm, maybe this will do.' He handed me a wand. 'Fir and the hair from a tail of a centaur. Eight and three and a half inches. Quite displeased with me, the centaur, when I pulled the hair out. Oh, well. Have a try.' 

I barely lifted my hand up to wave the wand when Mr. Ollivander confiscated me of it. 'No! Absolutely not! Why not rosewood? Yes: rosewood, phoenix feather, thirteen inches. Pliable.' 

A bit foolishly, I waved the wand. Nothing. Again, Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from me. 'Ah, another selective customer, eh? Not to worry, not to worry.' 

As the pile of ineffective wands climbed to the ceiling, I started to get frightened. Glancing at Sirius mid-wave, I saw him bite his lip and look at me with concern as did my parents. Mr. Ollivander, on the other hand, looked more and more ecstatic the more wands failed. At the time, it seemed most unkind of him. 

Finally, Mr. Ollivander pulled out two dusty boxes. One he glanced at momentarily before discreetly storing it in the drawer of a desk and opened the other, pulling out a shiny wand. 'Pliable. Mahogany, eleven inches. Excellent for transfiguration, though I think it might be a little too powerful for you.' He murmured the last part softly to himself, but I had heard anyways. I couldn't help but notice that he had not taken the effort to name the core of the wand. Mr. Ollivander handed me the wand. 

When my hand closed around the handle, blood rushed up my ears, and every vein in my body was thrumming. A headrush of euphoria flashed through me as a thick stream of red and gold light shot from my wand as I swished it through the air. 

'Oh, bravo, we've found it!' cheered my father. I smiled, albeit shakily. 

We paid for our wands and exited the small shop. I was the last to go out. Just as I stepped over the threshold, I could not help hearing Mr. Ollivander say softly to himself, 'How curious. Well, at least it's not that wand's brother wand.' 

Afterwards, Sirius and I left Diagon Alley clutching a brand new broom each (the newest model--I was chuffed to bits*!). My father and Mr. Black forbade us from bringing them to Hogwarts as first-years aren't allowed. Their faces were stern and forbidding. However, when our mothers turned around, my pater started to make frantic signs at us with surreptitious glances. Mr. Black didn't notice, as he was looking somewhere else. Of course, when our mothers turned back, he put on a benign expression and chucked our heads fondly. Sirius and I had to excuse ourselves to go laugh in the loo. 

  
  
  
On September 1st, Sirius and I boarded the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. Billows of light smoke blew about the roof of the gleaming scarlet train, students and their parents hustling about the immaculate station. Extricating ourselves from my parents' clinging arms (the Blacks had nothing pleasant to say to their son--bloody bastards; my parents did the job instead), Sirius and I gaped around ourselves with growing excitement. Grinning, I gripped my hand tighter on my shrunken broom (courtesy of my father; he showed me the countercurse) and Sirius's, both tightly cocooned in my Invisibility Cloak. 

  
  
  
Ah, yes. The Invisibility Cloak. It is, as a matter of fact, one of my many priceless family heirlooms. I was normally supposed to receive it after my sixteenth year of existence in this world; however, my father found me worthy to bear it earlier--call it a father and son agreement. It's proven to be an endlessly useful asset in my little excursions. Ahem. Well, back to the telling of the tale. 

  
  
  
Being the impish, impulsive boys that we were, we set a couple dozen Dungbombs here and there as we swept by, making sure we would go unnoticed. After saying our final farewells to our fathers--one who was mouthing 'Go for Gryffindor!', the other hissing 'Slytherin and _nothing_ else!'--and mothers (mine was disgustingly teary), we sauntered into the whistling train, dragging along our heavy trunks--most of the weight contributing to new gadgets we had procured from Zonko's--and proceeded to search for an empty compartment. 

Soon, we came across a compartment that was devoid of students with the exception of one. Sirius and I could not help observing him with interest. He was sitting quietly in the corner right by the window, staring outside at the peaceful Scottish countryside, an open book resting on his lap and an atmosphere of repose and serenity surrounding his personage. His light brown hair was cut neatly in a schoolboy manner and fell over clear grey eyes, part of an attractive face. He was above average height and was wearing clean clothes that were evidently of excellent quality. Despite all this normalcy, there was something striking about him, a certain quality and a certain weariness cloaking his being; a weariness that, somehow, seemed to set him apart and made him much older than he seemed. Though we did not know him, Sirius and I already had taken a liking for the boy. 

I slid open the compartment door and pushed back my messy jet-black hair from my eyes. The boy was startled from his reverie. I smiled amicably at him. 'Hullo! Can we sit here? All the other ones are full.' 

He smiled shyly and nodded softly. 'It's fine. Make yourselves comfortable.' 

'Thanks,' said Sirius. 

We heaved our trunks into the overhead shelves and took seat at the opposite. 

'I'm James,' I said, pointing at myself. 'James Potter. This bloke here is Sirius Black.' I jabbed my thumb at Sirius, who grinned and waved cheerily. 

The boy glanced at us for a moment with surprise and some trepidation at the mention of our names. He got over it quickly, though, and smiled timidly. 'My name is Remus Lupin.' Although douceur and shyness laced his voice, his grip on my hand was strong and firm as we shook hands. 

'Are you a first-year, too?' asked Sirius, making himself at home on the seat. 

Remus nodded. 'I still can't believe they'd accept _me_, though,' he added, as if to himself. 

'Why not? Is there something wrong with you?' Sirius joked. I could not help but notice that Remus looked exceedingly uncomfortable. 

'N-no. There's nothing _wrong_ with me--' Remus was flustered. I had a feeling that it was something personal and of an abstruse nature, so I interrupted and adroitly turned the conversation to Quidditch. 

The more we conversed, the more Sirius and I took a shine to him. From the start, there had been a pull between us all--though, I couldn't name what it was, as I don't quite know. As the chitchat progressed, we realised what a perfect addition Remus would be to _the Marauders_. He possessed a great intellectual acumen (I was the judge of that) and was just as down-to-earth as Sirius was airy-fairy. An aesthete and gifted in the athletic department, it only improved the conclusion immensely when we found out that he was a veritable mastermind prankster with a keen sense of humour. We had found a veritable marauder. 

Sirius, being his usual blatant self, simply asked right out (something along the lines of 'Want to be best mates?'). It startled Remus, being as we'd only known him for a bit over an hour. We found ourselves explaining the whole deal, from beginning to end, and he gladly accepted. Our offer seemed to touch him a great deal; later on, during a game of wizard's chess, he confessed that he had never had any friends. This flabbergasted us, as we'd never met anyone as gentle and pleasant as Remus. 

  
  
  
Evidently, now we know he's a werewolf, so we understand, but at the time, we were completely nonplussed. You might be wondering how one can become good friends on such short notice. Don't rely on me to elaborate; I have no idea. Anyhow, back to the story. 

  
  
  
After we finished all the sweets we procured from the lady with the food cart and donned our school robes, we were overcome by a sense of slight _ennui_. Boredom leads to restlessness. Restlessness leads to need of activity. And our definition of activity is a tad bit different from that of others. 

Needing no encouragement, Sirius dove into his trunks--take notice of the plural form; he had too many things to fit into one… notably all his things from Zonko's--and produced a mind-blowing amount of Filibuster Fireworks and Dungbombs. Deciding to save the rest for later, we only grabbed several bunches of the evil-reeking Dungbombs and a packet of brightly coloured fireworks. I then untangled my Invisibility Cloak from the brooms. After a few moments of gasps and delighted exclamations over the shiny brooms and silvery cloak, we huddled under the Invisibility Cloak with our packs and snuck out of the compartment, sniggering from behind muffling hands. 

Our first stop was the compartment of some greasy-haired, sallow-skinned git. 

  
  
  
This greasy-haired git mentioned above is Severus Snape, a good-for-nothing lover of the Dark Arts. 

If there's anything I truly abhor and despise, it would be the Dark Arts. There is nothing more disgusting than a group of people who voluntarily bring on death and destruction and appreciate it. My stomach rebels at the thought of that kind of practise. It really is sickening that a _living being_ can find pleasure and entertainment in hurting and eradicating. I _cannot_ understand how someone can subject themselves to the Dark Arts, which embody cruelty, greed, and everything harmful. 

So, naturally, I abhor Snivellus--Snape, that is; Sirius and I gave him that name... I'll give you the reason a bit later on. From very first sight, I knew that Snivellus was up to his nose in the Dark Arts. Thus, it was hate at first sight. 

  
  
  
Anyhow, Remus was deputised to light and throw in the first Filibuster Fireworks. Sirius followed suit with a bunch of Dungbombs. Covered in foul-smelling muck, choking and half-blinded by the thick smoke, he burst his way out of his compartment. 

  
  
  
Now, it so happened that while in Diagon Alley, my father had snuck me a spellbook called '101 Ways to Curse Your Worst Enemy'. That night, I read it from front to back twice and memorised the most interesting curses. At that moment, one of those spells happened to pop into my mind. I didn't remember what exactly its effect was, but I clearly recalled that I'd wanted to test it. It was quite convenient that I happened to have a perfect test subject right before me. Aren't I simply loaded with good fortune? 

  
  
  
I pulled out my wand and pointed it at the bloke as I muttered the incantation. A wisp of sparkling yellow light shot from my wand and disappeared on his clammy skin. Almost instantaneously, a peaceful and beate expression placed itself on his face. For a few seconds, I was enormously disappointed. However, Disappointment packed her bags and bid farewell when the greasy-haired git's hooked nose grew larger and larger, a lovely, huge, hairy wart at the tip for effect. Slowly, the daze faded, and he abruptly realised his unfortunate state. 

A sort of ecstatic elation settled on Sirius's face as he stared at the yelping and skip-hopping boy. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. 'James,' he announced solemnly, 'you are my new role model.' 

Remus looked at me with awe. 'James,' he exclaimed in a strangled voice, 'that's a _really_ difficult curse! Casting a spell like that is of a very advanced level! I doubt most starting third-years would be able to manage it!' 

Sirius was curious. 'Why?' he asked. 'What does it do, exactly?' 

'It's a Fault-Enhancing curse,' said Remus. 'How did you do it, James?' 

'Er, well... I read the instructions and just... did it,' I said, puzzled. 

'Just like that?' Remus was all astonishment. 'Blimey, James... you must be really gifted.' 

Sirius snorted. 'Right,' he said, looking highly entertained. 'Oy, Remus, do you think that the bloke's behind inflated a little?' 

Remus made a face. 'I prefer remaining in the dark on that subject,' he informed Sirius tartly. 

Throughout our conversation, we had shuffled away as quickly as we could from the 'scene of the crime'. By now, we were well distanced from the greasy git, so we slid out from underneath the Invisibility Cloak and popped the rest of the Dungbombs and Filibuster Fireworks into random compartments, making sure all the while that no one saw us and leaving a higgledy-piggledy mess in our trail. Eventually, we had been moving so quickly that we soon reached the last compartment. 

'Hey, why don't we go back to that git I placed a Fault-Enhancing curse on?' I suggested. 

'Whatever for?' asked Remus. 

'Why _not_?' I retorted. 

'Let's go, then!' exclaimed Sirius. 

We sped off in search of the greasy-haired git. We found him slouching on a newly-cleaned compartment. Without the least discretion, I slammed the door open and entered to face him with a smirk. 'What's your name?' I asked. 

He eyed me distrustfully. 'Severus Snape,' he said shortly. Suddenly, seeing my hand discreetly inching towards my wand, he whipped out his and yelled an incantation. I was immediately knocked to the floor. 

The git had just _hexed_ me! The _nerve_! 

(A.N. Dear James seems to have forgotten that he had cursed Snape not that long ago...) 

Sirius and Remus made movements to reach for their wands, but I stopped them with a signal of my hand. 'This is _my_ fight,' I said grimly. Swiftly, I ducked a fresh spurt of hexes--courtesy of _Snivellus_--and raised my own wand. 

After a short moment of flying spells, I easily overpowered Snape and soon had him hanging from an invisible hook on the ceiling by the back of his robes, his wand in my hand. He was gritting his teeth and was crying. Sirius clapped, but I saw distinctly from the corner of my eye that Remus was frowning slightly. 

I suddenly started to feel slightly guilty, but it would have been bad form for me to suddenly let Snivellus go without having taught him his lesson. With a casual flick of my wrist, I had Snape spinning in mid-air. We were all watching him when, suddenly, a small group of people made to enter the compartment. 

Two girls and a boy stepped inside. One of the girls had short dark hair cut into a bob right below her ear and equally dark eyes sparkling with the mischievous curiosity of a cat set in an elfin face. She was tall, athletically built, and was already draped out in her school robes. 

'Really, Mundungus,' she was saying to the boy, shaking her head. 'You shouldn't have done that.' 

'Ah, geroff, Marlene*,' answered the boy good-humouredly. 'I just bunged him some, er, special treats I've been saving up for a while. He was an insufferable prat anyways.' 

The boy was a likeable-looking sort and looked somewhat familiar. He had a mop of short ginger hair, bandy legs, and mild brown, baggy eyes that gave him a slightly doleful look which resembled that of a basset hound. His build and height were average, albeit on the short and stumpy side. He, on the other hand, was comfortably outfitted in Muggle clothes. 

The girl Marlene turned to their last companion. 'Lily!' she said crossly. 'Help me out a little here with this mule-headed arse!' She received no answer. 'Lily?' 

The second girl was the one that caught my attention. It's hard to miss her, really, with her mass of long, dark red, loose curls. She had pale skin--as have the majority of redheads--with a light dusting of barely visible freckles across the bridge of her nose and a slender physique. It was her eyes, though, that really set her apart from everyone else. They were huge, almond-shaped, and _unnaturally_ green. Bright emerald green. At least, mainly. There were only green shadings in her irises, I can promise you that. Lime green lining her pupils, lots of emerald green in her irises, forest green on the outer rim, etc. I can name at least ten different shades of green in her eyes. I felt myself in a state of an almost dreamlike ataxia as I stared. 

  
  
  
I'll admit that there is _one_ thing I like about Evans: her eyes. I hate her, but I'm in love with her eyes. You just can't help it. Look at her eyes yourself; you'll find that you can't tear yourself off them. Everyone at Hogwarts loves her eyes, from Gryffindors to Slytherins to teachers. Although, I don't think Lily knows that. Mundungus told me that she doesn't know that it's abnormal to have everyone constantly staring fixedly at your eyes wherever you go. Since she's likely always been surrounded by this kind of behaviour, I suppose it's only logical. Of course, no one tells her. It's far too convenient to have her not notice or care that your eyes are always stuck to her face. Right now, we're in our fifth year, so it's cooled down a little. At least people don't double up the corridor anymore just to get a second glance. Well, only first-years to third-years to that now. She owes loads to her eyes; if it weren't for them and her odd character, I doubt she'd ever be noticed at all. Even though she has red hair. 

Er, alright. No more interruptions. Ahem. 

  
  
  
Anyhow, the redheaded girl, like her dark-haired friend, was dressed in her school robes as well. She, however, had noticed the presence of other people in the compartment, and was staring at Snape--spinning pitifully in the air--and me--obviously in control of this odd movement on Snape's part. She looked positively _gobsmacked*_. 

She shrieked and pointed at me accusingly. 'You git! What do you think you're doing?! Let him _go_!' 

In my surprise at her sudden intervention made me accidentally stop the spell. Snivellus landed with an uncomfortable crack on the floor and grasped his nose, which was still overly large, and now pouring torrents of blood--he had hit the floor face-first. Blindly, he swiped at me to try and regain his wand. Instinctively, I held it beyond his reach and smirked at him. 'No way, Snape.' 

Abruptly, the wand was wrenched out of my hand with surprising aggressiveness. I turned to see the red-head giving me a nefarious glare before handing Snivellus his wand. Resentfully, the latter took back his wand silently. 

I raised a brow. 'Oh, so _that's_ it, is it?' I mocked. 'Hiding behind skirts and being a big girl's blouse*, are you?' 

Snarling, he lunged at me. I easily stepped aside and watched with interest as Snivellus fell into an indignified lump on the ground. 

'_STOP IT!_' 

  
  
  
Wait. I just wanted to add that that girl is bloody _INFURIATING_. Did I mention that she's also simply… infuriating? You do realise that's the only adjective I can best describe her with other than completely… infuriating. Er, never mind. Anyhow, she always tries to surpass me. What's even _more_ infuriating is that we're nearly always tied on the top. Except in Transfiguration and Quidditch, where I excel her. Oh… yeah. And Charms. Where she… where she beats me. I don't want to talk about it. It's too humiliating and absolutely degrading. HONESTLY. Being _under_ Evans. It makes everything in my world achromatic, ad nauseam. _Imagine_ just how she can _utterly_ ruin your day with a single word… forget it. Just the _thought_ of her _infuriatingly_ smug expression when she gets a better grade by _half a point_ can acerbate even the worst situations. Argh. Never mind. 

HOLD ON! Am I _rambling_? 

  
  
  
I honestly never knew that it was possible for someone to be so horribly nosy. 'Be quiet,' I ordered her. 'It's none of your business.' 

'Well, _I've just made it mine_,' she hissed threateningly, 'you bullying _arse_!' 

I was starting to get brassed off* with her. 'Such big words for such a slip of a girl,' I said smoothly, masking my extreme irritation. 

'Jerk!' she shrieked in that dreadfully high-pitched voice all girls seemed to reach when in a certain temper--it's like nails on a board... have you ever heard it before? 'Leave him alone!' 

I looked at her with some pity. 'Oh... don't tell me that you _fancy_ this greasy git!' I said, dismayed. 'Is that even _possible_?!' 

(A.N. Have you noticed that 'greasy git' is another great favourite of James's?) 

It seemed to me that she somehow... _inflated_. 'I _don't_ fancy him!' she screamed. 'Why is it that when a girl defends a male _victim_'--here she gave me a smouldering glare--'everyone _automatically_ assumes that she _fancies_ him?!' 

'Well, that's a relief,' I said, completely ignoring her state of apoplexy. 'I _knew_ ever from the first that it would be impossible for Snivellus here to attract any girls.' 

'_Don't insult him_!' 

I eyed her dubiously. 'Are you sure you don't fancy him?' 

'You're a _git_! An _ARSE_! _CHUFFLE-BRAIN_! _PITIFUL, HALF-BAKED EXCUSE OF A OVERGROWN SPROG_*!' She proceeded to fly into a remarkable temper and bombarded me with a very colorful vocabulary as well as numerous hexes. 

_Hexes_! How dare she?! I say, that's _very_ offending. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*Marlene McKinnon: She was mentioned as part of of the Order of the Phoenix by Moody (' "...that's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family..." '). She was, in my consideration, the best replacement for the "Arabella Figg, Lily's best friend" role. I was thinking about Alice Longbottom (I couldn't do her because I didn't know her maiden name), Emmeline Vance and Dorcas Meadowes (especially her, because Voldemort killed her personally), but settled on McKinnon because the McKinnon family had been mentioned before. Besides, it will be easier for me to adapt her character to the former Arabella's because she died.... 

*chuffed to bits: Brit. expression for 'really pleased'  
*gobsmacked: Brit. slang for being amazed  
*big girl's blouse: Brit. slang for a wimp  
*getting brassed of with s.o: Brit. expression which basically means getting 'fed up' with someone  
*sprog: Brit. slang for baby  
*'Blimey, I haven't heard from you for yonks!': Brit. expression that is equivalent to-->'I haven't heard from you for ages!'  
*jammy beggar: Brit. expression that could be equivalent to 'lucky bastard'  
*'Shut your flapping clanghole.': This is not a very nice expression to use. Avoid it. It means 'Shut up', naturally.  
*dipstick: in other words... idiot  


  
  
  
  
A.N. Ah, well. I'm not too pleased with this chapter, but it'll do. Tell me what you thought. Please review, because I've at least put in the effort to change it in accordance with tOotP. 

Credits: 

~Padfoot, my old gel, you're a real treasure! My best friend here was most of my inspiration for humourous conversations between Sirius Black and James Potter (Padfoot being, naturally, Sirius, and me James--I have to 'masculinate' the sentences, of course, but it all works out marvelously). Of course, that _is_ why her nickname is Padfoot (even though she's a girl--and blonde). Most of our conversations are recorded--by _moi_, naturally--for me to use in the fic. Thanks! Cheers! (You can check out her fics under the name 'Padfootgirl'.)  
~My reviewers: you give me strength! ^_^ I read each and every single one of them... at least three times each! Special thanks to those who actually bothered to give me a lovely, long review that pointed out to me what they thought! 

  
  



	3. Start of the Term

**It's Enough Just to Breathe**

By Atlantis Forester 

Disclaimer: You know what? I'm sick of these. You already know who Harry Potter belongs to, so I'm sure I don't need to remind you at the beginning of every chapter. This is the last time I write a disclaimer. Grr. 

A.N. **REWRITTEN FOR THE FIFTH HARRY POTTER BOOK**

Now, before we start, let me explain why James is a prefect. J.K. Rowling said in previous books that Lily and James had been Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts. In _the Order of the Phoenix_, however, she states quite clearly that James was never a prefect, but that Remus was. This doesn't make any sense at all, as one must be a prefect in order to become Head Boy or Girl. I suppose that it may be that James had somehow been a special case; but to be on the safer side, I'd rather choose one - because, honestly, I think that J.K. Rowling just made a mistake. It is here that I take the choice of James being a prefect, as , after all, it really was mostly to assuage Harry's feelings that he was told that James had not been a prefect. All clear? Good. Now... ready? Set... ACTION! 

Chapter 2: Start of the Term 

I suspect that you should _never_ tell your mother that you've become a prefect. 

It's a horrifically messy business, with rivers and rivers of tears, wobbling simpers, quavering sighs, confining arms, and secret, smug smiles every time they spot another bloke around my age. An absolutely stifling and equally terrifying experience. If I become Head Boy one day - of which, actually, I have no doubt of -, then I'll make sure my mother never knows. On second thought, I'll include every other female member of my family as well. I must say that there was a terrific bout of eye-flushing that day. Most of them are childless, however, so I reckon that it makes sense that they'd set their hearts on me. 

Either way, I found myself boarding the Hogwarts Express for my fifth year with arms laden with more gifts than I could bear and far too many lingering pats on my prefect badge. Adulation is a pleasant thing, but can perhaps be more than a little tiring. This may sound hypocritical of me - as I tend to bask in adoration -, but being adored by family differs greatly from being adored by attractive girls my age. I'm sure you understand. 

I wandered around for a while, carelessly dropping some of my presents here and there willy-nilly - but I'm pretty certain of them somehow finding their way back to me (it happens quite commonly in Hogwarts) -. I must say that by the time I reached the compartment my friends and I usually sat in every year, my burdens were considerably lighter. 

I banged my shoulder against the sliding doors, signalling Remus to open the doors for me. He stood, smiling, and obliged me as I stumbled in, parcels tumbling onto the ground as I went along, my trunk trailing along after me, and glanced at the tidy trail of things I'd left behind on my way here. 

Sirius picked up a slender box which contained a valuable-looking pendant. 'Now, what would they give you that for?' he wondered out loud, spinning the shining trinket in the air. 

Remus raised a dubious brow. 'James,' he remarked slowly, 'that's a girl's thing. I had no idea that you had a sexual identity crisis.' He had added the last part in a mischievous tone. 

I collapsed on a seat. 'That's from Aunt Katrina,' I said snappishly. 'That old lunatic seemed to be terribly pleased with herself. Said it was for "someone special". She's under this delusion that I'll fall madly in love and marry a girl as soon as I'm of age. Absolutely barmy, that one.' 

'She probably didn't have much romance in her youth,' observed Remus shrewdly. 

'Wouldn't it be a laugh if you ended up giving it to some bloke?' Sirius grinned. 'Why don't you give it to Snivellus?' 

I grimaced. 'That's bollocks. What are you spouting, you idiot?' 

'You're right,' Sirius agreed. 'Sorry about that.' 

'Are you sure you two don't think about him at night?' Remus grinned. 

Sirius and I stared at him, horrified. '_That_ is where I draw the line,' we exclaimed simultaneously. 

'Why don't you sell this and buy something else?' Peter asked, examining the forgotten pendant. 

Oh, Peter Pettigrew. I'd almost forgotten him. He's a somewhat pusillanimous bloke - I had thought that he would end up in Hufflepuff and it really is a mystery how he ended up in Gryffindor -, but all right under it all. Albeit on the short side - unfortunately for him, as Sirius, Remus and I are all quite tall, he seems quite a bit smaller than he really is because he's always around us - and not too much of a good-looking sort, he is a very faithful friend. Through first-year to third-year, he'd been a devout shadow. I admit, he rather hero-worshiped us (oh, Remus, Sirius and I ended up in Gryffindor - our parents were chuffed to bits!). This case of near-apotheosis made us all a bit uncomfortable for a while - at a certain point, I remember that we found it a little alarming -, but we ended up feeling that such devotion needed to be rewarded, so we tried to add him to our exclusive group. He has his good points, but Peter can be terribly dull, so we can't help excluding him a little. We try our best to keep him from feeling too left out, though sometimes the group feels a trifle too crowded. 

Well, enough of that. I'll continue. 

I ignored him, still frazzled from the overwhelming attentions I had just escaped from. Dumping my presents on the seats and floor, I hauled my trunk onto the overhead compartments and let out a terrific yawn. 

'Oy, James,' said Sirius, suddenly taking notice of the shiny badge on my jumper (My mother had insisted that I wear it all the way from Godric's Hollow to the Platform nine and three quarters - does a bloke even get to wear his own wardrobe, these days? I tell you, they're raving mad.). 'You didn't tell me you were a prefect!' 

(jumper: sweater... and this is the last time I put in a definition for this) 

'But, James, aren't you supposed to be in the prefect meeting, then?' asked Peter. 

'Oh, no,' I said in dismay. 'I forgot!' 

'You'd better run along, mate,' advised Remus. 'You don't want to make a bad impression, do you?' 

'I'll be right back!' I shouted, throwing open the compartment doors. 

'We expect you all to present an ideal example of obedience, propriety, and academic excellence to your peers,' droned the Head Boy. 'It is the duty of a prefect to guide his or her fellow students along the right path. We are here to help those who need any sort of aid, whether it be with studies or advice -' 

'How about _other_ kinds of help?' asked one sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect with a playfully lascivious tone and a small smirk on his face. Everyone started to chuckle, and the Head Boy - a sort of awkward-looking fellow - turned bright red. 

Borks, a Hufflepuff prefect in my year, lightly elbowed me. 'James here probably wouldn't mind a bit if a pretty girl took him aside and asked him for a _little_ favour,' he exclaimed mischievously with a broad smile. 

I grinned and brushed my bangs out of my face. 'You're just saying that because you're madly jealous that I can get a pretty girl to like me, and you can't,' I retorted as another chuckle ran around the large compartment. 'Besides, I'm not the only one who enjoys certain activities in my spare time, Borks.' 

'You're incorrigible, Potter,' a cold voice rang out from across me. 'Would you mind keeping your immoral personal life to yourself? Some people aren't interested.' 

'You're just bitter because no one wants to suck on that sour mouth of yours, Evans,' I said hostilely. 

The corners of her mouth curled up with contempt. '_Suck_. What an... appetizing word. Yes, without a doubt, that is what we always see you doing in public. And don't make assumptions about my private matters, Potter.' 

'Then don't make assumptions about mine.' 

'I'm not making assumptions,' she said, raising a coppery brow. 'You're the one telling us all about it in the first place. The evidence is very clear.' 

'Don't try to sound so smart - you might wear yourself out,' I said in my most concerned manner. 

'Stop it, both of you,' the Head Girl suddenly said sharply. We bit back our comments and leant back in our seats, throwing disgusted and disdainful looks at each other. The room had lost its previously agreeable, sociable atmosphere, and was eerily quiet. 

'Ahem... Well,' the Head Boy continued hesitantly, suddenly daunted by the antagonism dripping in the air, 'er, it is out duty to make sure that our Houses are -' 

As he plowed on, I eyed Evans out of the corner of my eye. She was stubbornly attentive to the Head Boy's words, though I could tell that she knew that I was still giving her dirty looks. 

She had changed quite a bit over the summer. Her wealth of long crimson locks which had once gone past her waist had been chopped to a neat shoulder length and tied back. Her skin was still pale with the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her face hadn't changed much - her features had only become a little more pronounced over the years. If possible, her bright green eyes had gotten even larger, and her lashes longer and darker under the arched brows. But what had changed most about her appearance was the way her chest and hips had filled out, and how her form had started to curve noticeably. 

Don't look at me like that. I'm just an ordinary bloke, alright? Evans has always been as skinny as a beanpole, so this is really coming to me as a surprise... 

Do me a favour, and get your bloody mind out of the gutter, will you? There's no way I can think of her _that_ way! 

Which makes me wonder... What would Evans say if I mentioned her new... _assets_? Er, however pathetic they may be, naturally. 

'Oy, Evans!' I called out impishly with a grin, interrupting the Head Boy's speech. 'I see you got yourself some knockers over the summer!' 

(knockers: breasts) 

There was a long, stunned silence. Evans's face was flooded by a brilliant shade of red. Some boys started to chortle wildly, and Borks elbowed me again, tears of mirth running down his cheeks; the girls all gasped and looked sympathetically at Evans. 

She started to tremble, and her lower lip started to tremble, as if she was about to cry. 'You...' she uttered softly, 'you lecherous, _despicable_ beast.' She jumped up and whipped out her wand. 'I can't stand you!' With that, she pointed her wand at me and hissed out an incantation. 

'Bloody hell, Evans - I _swear_ that if you curse me, I'll -' Before I could finish my sentence, I was blinded by a flash of light and was thrown back by some invisible force. 

The last thing I heard before I passed out was Borks saying, 'Cor! James, now you've got knockers, too!' 

... 

_What_?! 

'Well, Potter, it seems you are finally with us.' 

'Unn...' I opened my eyes slowly and wearily. Why was I so tired? My mind felt unusually sluggish, as did the rest of me, and didn't seem to function properly. Who was talking to me? The voice seemed very familiar. My mouth was dry and my tongue was coated in some thick, gluey substance. 'Water...' I managed to croak out. 

'You've been out for an entire day,' the voice said briskly. 'Astounding, what children do to each other, nowadays. Here, drink this.' 

I felt a hand grip my chin and something cool pressed against my lips. Greedily, I drank. Big mistake. 'It's disgusting!' I blinked a couple more times in succession as my sight started to return to its normal, blurry vision. 

'Here are your glasses, Potter.' 

I could suddenly see with delightful clarity. I stared up at the person still holding the tumbler to my mouth. 'Hullo, Madam Pomfrey. I'll just inform you that I will absolutely not drink any more of that,' I said firmly. My brain was starting to function properly again, and I began to pick up things around me. White curtains, beds, medicine, Madam Pomfrey... 

'Well,' she clucked disapprovingly, 'apparently, you're back to your normal frame of mind.' She eyed me disapprovingly. 'You've certainly gotten yourself into quite a fix. Already, just at the beginning of the year, you've found your way to my infirmary. Though, I'm not quite surprised. Really, look at the condition you're in.' 

'Sorry?' "_Condition_"? I wondered dimly. I realised that my body felt strangely discoordinated and unbalanced. Something didn't feel quite right, and it was grating on my nerves. 

Madam Pomfrey sighed and started to busy herself with some medication. 'Honestly, I don't know how the lot of you get your hands on such odd curses. I shudder to think of what else you'll come up with next. This new generation is really a wild bunch of hooligans,' she ranted, the bottles clinking and the things being whisked around. 'I've never seen such discord among students in the same House, before.' 

'Same House?' I repeated stupidly, not understanding. 

She peered at me attentively. 'Yes, that Lily Evans did quite a job of you, Potter.' 

'Evans?' I scowled immediately with dislike at the sound of her name. 'What about her?' 

'Hormonal imbalance, my boy,' she replied, turning away suddenly. Why was I getting the impression that she wanted to laugh? What was so funny? Hormonal imbalance? I didn't understand. Why would hormonal imbalance be... 

Wait a minute. 

Now that I think of it, Borks said something about knockers, didn't he? 

Reflexively, almost by instinct, I glanced down at my chest. 

'_I'M GOING TO KILL HER_!' 

'Can I feel them?' 

'No.' 

'Please?' 

'No.' 

'It's not like they're really yours or anything.' 

'No.' 

'_Please_?' 

I gave Sirius the nastiest glare I could possibly manage. '_No_.' 

'People might get the wrong idea, Sirius,' Remus said placidly. 'You wouldn't want that, would you?' 

'But I want to know what they feel like!' the idiot whined. Sometimes, I loathe him with a passion. 

Peter looked highly disturbed. 'That's gross! Why would you want touch James's breasts?' 

'_They're not mine_,' I said tightly. 

'I think it's James's time of the month,' Sirius confided loudly to a passing girl in the corridor. 

'Sirius, if you don't shut up right now ,' I snarled, 'you're going to regret it.' 

'It's okay,' he replied understandingly, 'I understand.' 

'Sirius,' I growled warningly. 

'You're so boring,' he said, grinning. 'At least let me give them one squeeze.' 

'That's it,' I said grimly. 'You're dead.' I was about to launch myself at him to strangle him, when my ears were violently slashed to pieces by the sound of the voice of the person I hated the most at this very moment (besides Sirius). 

(A.N. If you haven't noticed it yet, I'll just point out that James is bit of a drama queen.) 

'So, how do you like being a girl?' She sounded taunting and infuriatingly smug. 'Just as I'd imagined, it's quite a sight when the infamous James Potter suddenly loses all the "masculinity" he prides himself in.' 

'I'm going to get you back for this, Evans,' I growled, my back still turned on her. 'And I swear that you'll get it ten times worse than I did.' 

'Threats, Potter? Typical. That's exactly what I would expect of you.' 

I scoffed and spun around. 'What would I care of what you expect of me?' I said mockingly. 'I'll bet you haven't even been kissed, yet.' 

'What is it with your fascination with my love life, Potter?' Evans said coolly, contradicting her warm cheeks. 'You've already commented on the kissing part. Then, there was my... chest... and now, it's back to kissing!' 

'_What_?' I flushed. 'I'm not interested in your _nonexistent_ love life,' I said hotly. 'Don't compliment yourself, Evans! I would never be interested in you like that!' 

She coloured even more. 'I never said that!' she shrieked loudly. 'You're the one who's interpreting it that way because that's what you want! For my part, the thought of us possibly being involved that way never even crossed my mind!' 

'W-what _I_ want?!' I spluttered. 'What bloke in his right mind would want _you_?! You're imagining things, Evans!' Gathering my composure, I smirked at her. 'Besides, I hear that you dream about me, at night.' 

'That was only _once_!' she shouted. 

I froze and stared at her. 'What?' 

At that point, she turned so red that I could easily compare her face to an overly ripe tomato. 'Er, I mean, er, I -' 

I started to grin, a wicked gleam in my eyes. 'You've got to be joshing me, Evans. You actually dream about me?' 

(joshing: kidding) 

'Lily, why don't you go to the library like you had planned before Potter starts to think you've been mad on him for ages?' A slender face surrounded by dark hair cut in a bob peeped around the corner of the hallway. 

'What are you talking about?' Evans snapped angrily, still red-faced. 'Would you just stuff it, Marlene?' She turned back to me. 'Just for your general information, Potter, you were part of my _nightmare_,' she said quickly. 

'Nice try, Evans. I'll give you points for effort, though,' I said, smirking. 

'Would you stop it?! Don't be daft!' she fumed. 'Stop fooling yourself!' 

'Lily, let's go,' McKinnon interrupted. 'Forget it. Come on, we'll be late for class. Oh, hullo, Remus.' 

'Good morning, Marlene,' Remus answered politely. 

McKinnon sighed and tucked a lock of her short hair behind her ear. 'It's really a shame that a decent bloke like you got stuck with the likes of Potter and Black,' she said disapprovingly. 

Remus smiled calmly, ignoring my gape and Sirius's indignant splutters. 'Yes, you keep telling me that. It's not all that bad, really, once you get used to it,' he said. 

McKinnon tutted. 'Like I said, Remus, you're a gem surrounded by rubbish.' 

Remus chuckled. 

'Alright, Lily, no more dawdling. Let's get to class,' McKinnon said, pulling Evans briskly along. 

'Wait, Marlene -' Evans tried to protest. 

'Move along, darling,' was McKinnon's response before they turned the corner and were out of sight. 

'Remus, you stinking traitor, what was that?!' Sirius demanded. 'You sided with her when she called us "rubbish"! That's fraternising with the enemy!' 

'She didn't call Peter manure, did she?' Remus pointed out. 'And "fraternising", Sirius? That just blowing it out of proportion.' 

'Well, she didn't mention Peter, end of story,' Sirius said impatiently. 'But that's not the point!' 

Remus shrugged. 'There's nothing wrong with being a little friendly, Sirius. You're exaggerating. She was obviously teasing you two. After all, since when were we on bad terms with Marlene?' 

'Well... never,' Sirius conceded, 'but, she is Evans's friend, and Evans cursed James.' 

'I can already tell that you're running out of arguments,' Remus commented. 

'Argh, why is it that I can never argue with you?' Sirius groaned, throwing his arms dramatically into the air. 

Peter scratched his neck. 'Maybe it's because you like him,' he offered. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Peter, you sound smarter with your mouth closed.' 

Peter widened his eyes. 'Oh... wait, I didn't mean it that way!' he stuttered. 

Sirius sighed impatiently. 'I know you didn't mean it _that_ way, Peter,' he said dryly. 'I know you well enough by now to realise that you don't have the courage or the wit to provoke me like that. No offence meant, of course, but it's a wonder that you ended up in Gryffindor.' 

'Of course,' Peter repeated dimly - he had obviously not quite understood what Sirius had said. 

'Blimey, you really are a bit thickheaded, aren't you?' said Sirius with raised brows. 

I frowned. 'Stop it, Sirius.' 

'That was uncalled for,' Remus added. 'You shouldn't say things like that to Peter.' 

'Whatever,' Sirius said indifferently. 'Sorry, Peter.' He flicked back a lock of his long, dark hair and slung an arm around my shoulder. 'Well, we should go, too - we're already late. So, James, can I give them a little squeeze?' 

'_No_!' 

The day had been a complete nightmare. Besides Sirius trying to cop a feel, I was suddenly assaulted by agonizing pains in my lower abdomen. I rushed out in the middle of Charms and headed straight for the infirmary. When I explained my problem to Madam Pomfrey, she suddenly put on a very disturbing smile and sat me on a bed before pouring some sort of potion into a tumbler and handing it to me to drink. 

'Ah, the sufferings of womanhood,' was all she said to me before I gulped down the mixture. As I swallowed the potion with a grimace, she dug through a drawer and pulled out a strange pair of bright orange knickers. 

I nearly spat out the medicine. 'What is that?!' I yelled as she handed them to me. 

'You'll have to put these on, Mr. Potter,' she said to me. 

'What?' I widened my eyes. 'I'm not putting on anything!' I shouted. 

'You'll have to, unless you want your trousers and robes stained with blood,' she said severely. 'These are charmed to absorb all the blood that comes out. Miss Evans has apparently cast a very thorough spell on you. I'm actually quite impressed.' Madam Pomfrey paused for a minute before tutting disapprovingly. 'She should really put that kind of effort into her work instead of her bickering with you.' 

'Wait, did you say blood?' I asked faintly. 

'Why, yes. Oh, don't you know about a woman's monthly cycle?' She looked surprised. 

My face went white. '_Bloody hell_!' 

At least most people had the decency - and the sense - not to point or laugh as they passed by when I kept picking at my bottom. 

Blimey, how do girls manage to walk around in these? For goodness's sake, every time I take a step, I feel a squish between my legs. 

It's absolutely _revolting_! 

A.N. Yes, yes, I know. FINALLY, a new chapter! I'm awfully sorry this took so long, but I'm finding that school really burns me out. And I don't even get a vacation, either! I have to go to prep school (grr!) and study till my brain bursts. 

Also, I'm really sorry about this pathetic chapter. I know that you must have expected something better after this long wait, but this is all I could do with the little time I had. I tried my best to get it up to at least eleven pages, but I only managed to get it up to ten. I'm so terribly exhausted... Well, anyhow, just to make sure that you understand some implications in this chapter, I'll make a brief explanation: 

I don't know if some of you are iffy (I love that word - my friend Ally rubbed it off on me) about homosexuality, so I'll tell you right here and right now that it will play a rather large role in this fic. Unless you haven't gotten the drift yet from the first chapter, Sirius has more than platonic feelings for James. If you're going to start telling me that you hardly believe that that's likely, stop right there. Believe what you want, but I'm quite convinced that Sirius had very tender feelings for James - he just seems to love James too much and cling to his memory too much (especially in the fifth book) for it not to be possible. Also, I will insert a Sirius/Remus warning here. Remus _will_ have a thing for Sirius, though it will be very well kept under covers. Keep your eyes open for signs, everyone. 

I'd also like you to notice James's progressively dwindling vocabulary headaches. See? I told you I'd work on them. Right now, he's still a pretentious, arrogant teenager - and, like a teenager, he does his best to sound supercilious and superior to make himself feel bigger and more important than he really is. So, all in all, it works out best for everyone - a definite win-win situation. 

Alright, I think that's pretty much all of it in one package. Till next time, then (hopefully not too far off...)! Please review! 

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**WARNING: There will soon be a change of title, so if you want to keep track of this story, you might want to jot down my pen name.**


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